Jellybeans and Yogurt
by The Uninspired
Summary: Yeah, this is definitely what you think it is. It's a story filled with Jim/Pam one-shots. Wait, don't turn away! It's probably as bad as it sounds, but you could at least look. Please? and sorry if I stole anyone's title, I'm not very creative.
1. Shatter

**A/N:** Hola! I see you clicked on my fanfic. Thanks for the attention.

I'm fairly new to Fanfiction, even though I've been secretly reading lots stories on the site for a long time now. Even as creepy as that sounds, it's true. So here's a story I'm actually contributing for those other people who don't have accounts but enjoy creeping on writers like me.

You know who you are.

I didn't want to spam the Office page full of one-shots, so I decided to throw them all into one story. Yay for spam prevention?

And the thing with these things are, I tried thinking in a British accent so I would write better. It worked.

And this one is set sometime late in the year in Season Four. The rest aren't.

I don't own the Office. I do, however, own a 'Support the Rabid' wristband and a computer on which I watch the Office. Please don't sue me.

* * *

Her laughter broke the silence.

He loved her laugh so much. It was indescribable, and he could only say that it was a 'couple thing' – because what man doesn't love his mistress's laugh?

The snow was falling hard now, so the scenery was covered in large white flakes, collecting on streets and sidewalks and all items outdoors. To be honest, they had no idea why they hadn't taken a car to work – but it had, of course, been his idea.

The street had been oddly silent. The local tavern was closed for an unannounced period of time, as the inspector had found rats and the place was being exterminated. Shops were closing up early, people were driving home from work in cars with windows rolled all the way up, and no teenagers that liked hanging out around town had the sense to go out in what may have been turning into a blizzard. But they faced the odds, walking in the near deserted streets, admiring the rare peace that settled over Scranton in silence.

They still considered it bonding. Even if they weren't discussing their most heartfelt memory, how they felt about each other, their future together, or other things couples would consider 'bonding', they were still spending quality time together.

But the peaceful silence that settled over the town had been shattered. Not necessarily in a bad way, but nonetheless, shattered. He had only looked at her-had only looked at her and smiled. She couldn't help but grin back at this, and her grin developed into a laugh. The laugh that he loved so much.

And of course, her laughter was also contagious. He started laughing too, and soon both of them had to stop to gather themselves up and smile breathlessly at each other.

"What's so funny?" he asked, feeling the color rise to his face as a shopkeeper looked out of her window to glare at them for ruining the silence. His mistress beamed, almost glowing.

"Do I need a reason to laugh, dear Jimothy?" she challenged, nudging him in the ribs playfully. He smiled and bowed low, so low it was considered mocking.

"Of course not, my dear Pamela," he replied, putting on an obviously fake British accent. He straightened his back and feigned a cane, holding himself up as straight as he could. She took on his faked accent and curtsied at him, pulling up the edges of an imaginary skirt.

"Well, then I think we don't have a problem, do we, Jim?"

"No Pam, I should think not." He smiled a proper gentleman's smile and offered the crook of his arm to her. "Shall we?"

"We shall," she answered, and hooked her arm in his. They both laughed again, together, still linking arms, as they made their way back to Jim's apartment.

Shattering the silence isn't necessarily a bad thing.


	2. Clown

**A/N:** Hey look, another one! In the same night, too! It's like...a Christmas miracle! Kind of.

This one is set sometime in Season Six. Let your imagination run wild here.

I still don't own the Office, sadly. Please don't sue me.

* * *

This was the day. He knew it was going to be.

He came in from the garage, carrying a crowbar in one hand and a hammer in the other. The house was empty, save for himself-his wife was spending the day with her mother for some 'quality bonding time', as they put it.

Silently, he crept through the halls. He had no idea why he felt the need to stay quiet-he was, after all, the only one in the house, and his neighbors were never home during the day, whether it was a weekend or not.

Soon, he came to his destination. Crouching his long legs slightly, he put the hammer on the ground, flexed his fingers on both hands, and stared down the painting on the wall.

The clown.

To be honest, he hadn't remembered this painting from his childhood at all. He remembered a picture frame being there, since one of his brothers had accidentally slammed their head into it once when they were much younger, but he never distinctly remembered the content of the frame.

But they had reached their breaking point with the painting the night before.

His wife had been going down to get a glass of water at 2 in the morning, for whatever reason, and had glanced at the picture for a bit too long. With a disoriented mind and a creepy picture, she had screamed, not loudly, but enough to wake him up.

And he made it his mission to remove it today.

He examined the frame of the painting, still holding the crowbar. It seemed to have holes drilled in it at each corner and was nailed down, for whatever reason. He scowled, glanced from the painting to the crowbar to the hammer and back to the painting, and set to work.

He rammed the crowbar behind the painting and pulled. He slipped, but caught his balance before he hit the wall behind him. He kept on this, soon pulling the side of the frame off enough so the nail was visible. He pushed the frame against the wall, and the two nails on that side of the painting were sticking out. Carefully, he used the back of the hammer's head to rip the nails out.

Well, it was half done.

He placed the nails and the hammer down on the ground, and repeated the process on the other side. When he was taking the last nail out of the wall, he heard her voice.

"Jim?"

He stopped at the sound of his name, dropping the last nail to the ground and holding the painting against the wall.

"Hey, Pam? C'mere, I've got something for you."

His wife rounded the corner, her hand instinctively on her obviously pregnant stomach, and smiled.

"You got the painting off?"

Jim grinned smugly.

"I did."

He removed the painting from the wall and set it on the ground, leaning it against the wall. Pam came over and hugged him, obviously happy.

"Thank God."

"Want to go set it on fire?"

"You know I do."


	3. Doctor

**A/N:** If you hadn't noticed, the other two chapters in this are a lot shorter than this one. This is because this one has a little less drabbling and more 'substance'. Set near the end of Company Picnic, if you're wondering.

And merry Christmas! Or rather, happy holidays. Yes, I am seriously up at 1AM on Christmas updating my story on FF. I'm lame.

And thanks for the reviews! Every review makes me a little bit happier on the inside.

I still don't own the Office, sadly enough. Wish I did, though.

* * *

Dr. Scott Stephens had the most unfortunate job.

His receptionist jokingly pointed this out a few months ago, and they had laughed over it, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized the truth behind it.

He really did have an unfortunate job.

But he supposed that it was his own fault for choosing to work with a ward that had a lot to do with pregnant women.

He wasn't complaining, though. Sure, some nights he had to stay overnight, which didn't make his wife or himself happy, but it kept the bills paid.

This particular week was rough. Three teenage girls had broken down crying when they had learned that they were expecting. Three boyfriends walked out in rage. Three mothers came in to console their irresponsible children. Two wives had their husbands walk out silently while a single tear ran down their cheek, and only one couple seemed remotely happy about this, but were already worrying about how much it was going to cost.

People just didn't care about anyone other than themselves these days.

His receptionist always joked about how he had what she called an 'iron face'-the ability to keep an emotionless face when telling people that they're expecting. But while his face remained iron, his heart melted like jelly-this just depressed him. Probably why he enjoyed the company of such an optimistic woman that was his wife.

A man ran in with his fiancée, carrying her with barely any effort. He said something about slipping and hurting her ankle, and Dr. Stephens had his nurse put her in a wheelchair immediately. She started going down the checklist while the woman's fiancée talked to someone on his cell phone, looking concerned and very impatient.

"To be safe, we should do an x-ray."

"How long will that take?" the woman asked, looking edgy. Dr. Stephens handed a form to her fiancée to fill out, which he did while pressing his phone to his ear with his shoulder.

"Oh, shouldn't be too bad, it's a slow day. So, no other radiation this year, no metal plates, no chance you're pregnant…"

"I'm sorry, but can we hurry this up? I've got a game to get back to."

"Oh, good, because my next question was "do you have a game to get back to".

Dr. Stephens snorted to himself to cover his laugh, taking the clipboard and pen from the tall man who brought the woman in. He identified himself as Jim Halpert, and the woman Pam Beesly.

Not married yet. This couldn't end well.

She ran the tests with the doctor quickly, and Mr. Halpert paced outside of the examination room impatiently, having phone conversations every few minutes. Based on their matching shirts, the game they had to get back to must have been intense to make them both so edgy.

Finally, Dr. Stephens got the pregnancy result. Positive.

Great. Send in the waterworks.

He leaned out of the examination room and called in Mr. Halpert.

"Just buy us a few more minutes…well, they just called me in for an update, so I'll call you right back…Okay, okay great." He snapped his phone up and smiled at Dr. Stephens, following him into the room.

"So is her ankle okay?" Halpert asked, fidgeting impatiently. That game must've been _really_ intense.

"Well…there's no way to sweeten this, so I'm just gonna say it straight. You two are expecting."

The expected pause of shock. Dr. Stephens closed his eyes, preparing for the sob and the _click_ of the door shutting behind Mr. Halpert.

But when he opened them again, the two were just about squeezing the life out of each other, grinning like idiots. And if he wasn't mistaken, Mr. Halpert looked close to tears. Suddenly, they jerked apart, and Jim put his hands to his forehead.

"I have to call Dwight."

"Go," Ms. Beesly replied, and smiled as Jim left the room, trembling, and took out his cell phone.

"Hey, Dwight…" he started, his voice shaky. He couldn't restrain the beginning of a laugh. "Send in the subs!" He quickly snapped his phone shut, laughed, and ran a hand through his hair, looking at the camera crew that came with him. Those were definitely tears coming from his eyes. He moved swiftly, entering the room and basically attaching himself to his fiancée again, laughing.

And for the first time in a long time, Dr. Stephens smiled.

He left the couple to rejoice and compose themselves, walking up to reception with a smile plastered to his face.

"So I'm guessing that went well?" she asked, smiling up at him. He looked down at her, not removing his grin.

"I should order some flowers for my wife…"

"Orchids, as usual?" his receptionist replied, picking up the phone and preparing to dial a number.

Jim picked Pam up when they were going to go back to his car, grinning stupidly. His soon-to-be wife cuddled into his shirt, beaming.

"I just can't believe it, Jim," she murmured. Jim kissed the top of her head.

"I can't either, Beesly. But get used to it, because you are _not_ loosing that child, whether you want to or not," he returned strictly, but his smile gave away his true emotion.

"I wouldn't want to for the world, Halpert."

"…And it is mine, right?"

"Definitely."

Dr. Stephens watched them walk out of the hospital, still smiling.

"Orchids it is, Jess," he told his receptionist, and sighed.

Not a bad end to a bad day.


	4. Morning

**A/N:** This one's much shorter. Because I couldn't make it any lengthier.

So this one takes place sometime after Jim and Pam started dating...when they started feeling comfortable sleeping in the same bed (with clothes on, mind you). I'd say sometime in the second half of Season Four, but I'll let you guys decide what you want on this.

I don't own the Office, but if any of you could abduct Jim and Pam's child for my birthday, I'd take that instead.

And Merry Christmas! :D

* * *

Sunlight streamed into the room through the gap in the drapes. It just happened to hit her face, causing her to moan and flip over in bad, snuggling into the shirt on the obviously male chest next to her. The man it belonged to let out a sigh unconsciously. His face was so close to hers that his breath ruffled strands of her long, curly reddish honey brown hair. Slowly, the girl's blue-green eyes fluttered open, still a bit blurry from sleep. They paused on the man's chest, and then slowly drifted up, taking in all his feathers and details. The stubble that had grown on his chin that he could never fully shave off, messy blondish brown hair that was even more disheveled from sleep, his lips curled up into a slight smile as he slept.

He was starting to wake up. His arms, which had been around her the whole time, started shifting, and she smiled.

"Good morning, Jim," she said quietly, but cheerfully. Jim opened one eye and smiled a sleepy half-smile back at her.

"G'mornin', Pam," he mumbled, pulling her close to him and kissing her forehead. She grinned, closing her eyes and cuddling into his shirt.

And they had a feeling it was going to be a good day.


	5. Temptation

**A/N:** I actually really like this one.

This is an idea that's been slowly circulating around in my mind for quite some time now, and I only got the inspiration to actually put it into words recently. Yaaaaay.

...but after this, I don't have any more themes to right on. If you guys have some ideas that you wouldn't mind other people writing, feel free to tell me, and if I like it, I'll most likely write it. And yes, I'm mooching off of other people's creative juices.

Still don't own the Office. But I'm working on that.

* * *

Slow days weren't fun for anyone, especially not reception.

Sales, accounting, and customer service could all get ahead or catch up on old paperwork, but reception just had to sit there, staring intently at the phone, and be ready to answer it as soon as it rang.

She couldn't even count how many games of solitaire she had played.

No one else understood how…_boring_ being a receptionist was except him. He finished his paperwork very fast, and often had nothing to do in his time at the office. Basically, he was getting paid to do nothing, just like she was.

So they had contests, even with ten feet and a desk separating them.

Staring contests, weird face contests, who-will-laugh-first contests, and more. He also got his daily exercise from how many times he got up to go to reception to take a few jellybeans and talk to her, mainly about his latest prank on Dwight or how stupid and un-thought out Michael's new idea is. They also discussed other things, like how Pam Halpert sounded as a name (Jim Beesly was even brought up once), current events, and other actually serious things.

But they weren't really serious people, and those happened rarely.

This day was dragging itself on extremely slowly, and they both had ran out of things to do within the first two hours of work. Prank ideas died within seconds, staring contests just seemed outright stupid, and thought processes were slowing down with each moment. Jim nearly fell asleep at his desk before Dwight shouted at him, waking up everyone in the office.

I repeat, slow days were the worse.

Jim got up for what seemed like the hundredth time that day and walked over to reception, taking jellybeans and being careful not to take any black ones.

"Slow day, huh?" he said first, leaning his elbows onto reception. Pam looked up at him, looking the exact opposite of amused.

"You said it. Can you believe it's only been two hours since we got here?"

"Definitely not. But Tuesday are never exciting, are they? They've even exhausted Michael," Jim pointed out, turning his upper body so Pam could see into Michael's office. His head was down on his desk, and his door was closed. He was most likely sleeping.

Jim turned his shoulders back around, and they just stood/sat there as he finished his jellybeans. He sighed, making an uninterested Jim face at her.

Pam couldn't help but think he looked particularly good today. The blue shirt was a nice change from white, and really brought out his eyes. Had they always been such a lovely shade of green? He hadn't bothered with his hair that morning, obviously, as it looked much more disheveled to one side than usual. His bangs fell into his eyes much more obviously, as well.

She couldn't help it. The temptation overwhelmed her.

He was caught by surprise as both hands gripped either side of his shirt collar, pulling him into what he would later call a 'vicious' kiss. But he didn't pull back from it. In fact, he leaned into it, hands gripping the edge of reception. When they finally pulled apart to get oxygen, Angela and Dwight were shooting them daggers with their eyes (and they could feel it burning into the back of their heads), but they were smiling, although panting for breath.

"God, Pam, you can't wait until we got home to do that?"

"Sorry. Couldn't resist," she replied breathlessly, beaming. He smirked at her anyway, standing up straight and rapping his knuckles against the desk in some sort of rhythm.

"Well, can't say I didn't enjoy it, but…really. We'll be getting notices about PDA tomorrow, just you wait."


	6. Studio

Ever since they found out, Pam had been in her art studio more than she was normally.

Jim never knew what it was, since he wasn't an artist himself. Maybe she was suddenly just struck with the realization that she and him were bringing a life into this world, with their genetics, and she was just burning off stress. Or maybe it was inspiration. Or maybe she would just sit in there, thinking over her life and how much it would change and secretly crying her eyes out without Jim knowing.

But she wasn't like that. But he would never know.

When the baby really started showing, and the given due date was growing closer and closer, Jim actually had to go to the art studio to call her to tell her that dinner was ready, or that her mother was on the phone, or anything like that. Normally he'd just have to shout her name or bang on the wall in between the garage and the den. But things were different.

One day, her mother called. Not really a surprise; it was her weekly/every-other-day call. Ever since they had told their parents they were expecting, both Helene Beesly and Betsy Halpert were calling on a more frequent basis. He took the phone off the hook, answered it with his signature, "Jim Halpert," (since that was what he answered his work phone with; at least it was better than "Dunder Mifflin, this is Pam.") shared a laugh with his mother-in-law, and then went to give the phone to Pam. Normally, she wouldn't let him into her studio until whatever she was working on was finished, but there were exceptions. He poked his head into the room, and she glanced at him. He mouthed 'your mom' to her, and she nodded without saying anything and went to get the phone. Her hand was almost always unconsciously on her obviously pregnant belly now, and it was still there as she took the phone from her husband's hand.

"Hello?" he heard her say from the other side of the door. He zoned out for the entire conversation, but when she opened the door to hand him the phone, he pushed his way into the studio.

"Jim?"

He looked back and smiled at her, but continued walking in order to get to her easel before she had a chance and look at what she was making.

She walked up next to him as he stared in awe at the painting.

"Like it?"

It was of the two of them, from way back in the day when Pam was still engaged to Roy and Jim was still an awkward salesman. They were leaning over reception, laughing. A light seemed to be emitting from them, and the background faded into black, so it was just them, and no one else. He noticed a photo clipped to the edge of the easel, and removed it delicately.

"Who took this?" he asked, tilting his head at it. "I don't remember anyone taking it."

"Kelly did," Pam replied, squeezing his arm with one hand. "You were out the day she gave it to me, and she never did get around to making another copy."

"You never showed me it, though."

She smiled at him, leaning her head on his shoulder.

"I wanted it to be a surprise. But you're so impatient that you had to barge in here and look, so…"

"So basically what you're doing here is blowing up the photo?"

"Basically. I'll repeat my question from before: Do you like it?"

Jim looked at her like she was insane.

"Like it?"

"Yeah. Do you?"

"No, Pam. I love it. This is going next to the clown picture, for sure."

"But the clown is always the best, right?"

"Always. But this comes close."


	7. Moondance

**[start author note] **Heck yeah, two updates in one week! Surprising, no? But yyyyeah, I finally got around to getting back into the JAM groove. I've just been putting it off because I'm lame.

So anyway, this one was written while I was listening to my middle school's jazz band's intrumental version of Van Morrison's _Moondance, _even if I'm used to hearing the Bublé version. So...here it is! And yes, this is an all dialogue piece, so it'll probably get a little confusing. Hope it isn't. **[/author note]**

* * *

"Have you ever slow-danced by the moonlight?"

"No, I haven't. Why do you ask?"

"Put on your best dress, Pam. We're going out tonight."

"Oh, Jim. Please tell me we're not doing what I think we're going."

"…"

"Jim!"

"Just get ready as fast as you can and I'll pick you up in an hour."

"Sometimes you make me wonder, Halpert…"

"Please, Pam, I've gotten this speech from all my girlfriends. Save it for the car ride there."

* * *

"Alright, Ms. Beesly, are you all ready to go?"

"I wouldn't have been waiting for you if I wasn't ready, Jim. Really."

"Such sarcasm, Pam. I'm hurt."

"Sure, Halpert. Sure."

"Okay, well, we're in the car and driving to a place, you can give me the "Sometimes I wonder" speech."

"Sometimes I wonder if Todd Packer is right and you're gay, Jim-! Don't crash into other cars, Jim!"

"Don't say things like that while I'm driving!"

"…Fine, deal. And nice tux, by the way."

"Thanks. And you look gorgeous tonight. And every night. And day."

"You're such a smooth talker, Halpert."

* * *

"Well, this is the place."

"…This is a high school, Jim. Bad memories for all adults our age, remember?"

"I know. But they just finished up a dance and I want to take advantage of the left over decorations while I can."

"Cheap, much?"

"Oh, be quiet. You'll be happy when you see it."

"Sure I will. Sure.

"…Jim."

"Amazing, right?"

"There wasn't just a dance here, was there?"

"No, there wasn't. Mark is the principal's son, and he pulled some strings and got him to let him decorate the poolside tennis court just for a friend. But they could only do it tonight since tomorrow is a student holiday, so."

"Jim, you're the best boyfriend ever."

"I know I am, thanks. Hey, Mark, hit the lights and play the Van Morrison!"

That night, Jim and Pam danced to the song Moondance (both the Morrison and Bublé versions) underneath the full moon.


	8. Cecelia Marie

Cecelia Marie Halpert.

March 4th, 2010.

She will grow up to call her father 'Tuna' (much to his dismay), to learn to appreciate "That's what she said", to know how to land a sale in the area of anything related to paper. She will not grow up to work in an office, despite Michael's wishes.

She will grow to an average size, combined with her father's tall height and her mother's slightly-shorter-than-average height. She will sleep the same way as her father, laughs the same was as her mother, and yet, will develop her own brand of doe-eyed guilt trips, which her father will fall for every time.

She will break many boys' hearts. She will have her own heart broken by one boy alone.

She will hate the song Cats in the Cradle, and she will easily get used to a camera crew following her.

She will inherit her mother's love for art and her father's art of pranks. She will inherit the dislike of a certain Dwight K. Schrute, and Dwight's son will inherit a dislike for her father.

She will refuse to be called CC by anyone but her parents.

She will wonder why her mother's parents aren't together, but will understand and stop asking questions at a young age.

She will love reading. She will hate the movie Legally Blonde.

She will love her father's grilled cheese sandwiches, and really come to appreciate her mother's artwork. Eventually, she will find that her mother's art studio is one of her favorite places in the world.

She will assume her parents are soul mates, and she will be right. She will find that her parents' love story is very romantic, and will hope that something similar happens to her.

She will grow up to be amazing.


	9. Dog

**[author note]** So yeah, I really should be working on the newest chapter of Halpert, but I wrote this quite a while ago, and the recent, motivating, and totally wonderful reviews made me feel like I had to update. So thank you, because some of those reviews made me grin really wide. **[/author note]**

* * *

She was sitting on the porch of her apartment, elbows on her knees, hands propping up both sides of her head. She was staring off into the distance, not even noticing that she was shaking in the cold wind.

Why was she outside on a cold winter's day?

She needed fresh air. A chance to cool down. A chance to think.

Recently her life had been…well, not worse, but definitely not as good as she thought it was. She had just gotten off from work for two weeks until the Monday after New Years, and she was on good terms with her best friend's girlfriend now.

Well, not her best friend anymore. Ever since he had come back from Connecticut with a _girlfriend_, he was just treating her differently. Part of that might've been because Ryan was now in his seat and he wasn't facing her anymore, but she always thought that it wasn't that.

No, it couldn't have been. Even when Jim was in the annex and Michael was at his normal desk, he called her. A lot. Recently he was just barely talking to her, and she couldn't exactly read the back of his head now, or tell when his neck hair stood on end.

In truth, she just missed him.

But it was no use dwelling on what they used to have now; Jim and Karen would probably get married and have five children, who would grow up to be successful due to their amazing parents. And Pam would grow up alone, regretting her past actions and becoming a hermit.

Just as she was considering telling Jim how she felt, she saw something running at high speed towards her. As it slowed down and neared, she saw it was a huge dog, and as it came even closer, she recognized the breed as a St. Bernard.

It sat down right in front of her, staring with huge, droopy, sad eyes. She couldn't help but smile, reaching out to stroke it's silky ears. She checked its tag, and it read "ANDY. If found, please contact this number:" and then listed what she assumed was a residential number. As Pam pulled out her cell phone to call the number, she paused, thought for a brief moment, then asked the dog, "Andy, what do you think I should do?"

The dog just stared at her, then lay down on the sidewalk in front of her, resting his head on his massive paws. She smiled, sighing.

"So you're saying I should wait for the best?"

Andy made a small 'woof'-ing noise, which Pam took to be a yes. She nodded at him, standing up to kneel in front of the dog.

"I think you're right, Andy. Thanks. Now let's find your owner." She gingerly reached for the tag, dialed the numbers in on her cell phone, and stood up next to the dog.

"Hello?" the person on the phone answered."

"Hi, sorry for the random call, but I just got a visit from a dog named Andy?"

"Oh, yes! That's my dog, I'm so sorry. He must've escaped again. Where are you right now? I'll come get him."

"No, no, it's fine. He's a lovely dog, give great advice. Anyway, I'm at…"

And Pam did follow Andy's advice, and now happily writes her name as "Mrs. Pam Halpert" and lives with the very same man who made her life so complicated.

* * *

**[author end note] **i thought it would be funny if i named the dog Andy. Because you know, Andy Bernard, St. Bernards? haha... pun. **[/author note]**


End file.
